


Duck

by AlwaysJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comforting Each Other, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:48:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22548067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysJohn/pseuds/AlwaysJohn
Summary: Just a thought. Nothing much.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 22





	Duck

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Пригнись!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23372845) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



“Mr Holmes?”

“No.”

“Your wrist is visibly broken and swollen.”

“Not important.”

“I recommend you have an X-ray.”

“Not until he is awake.”

The doctor released an obvious huff of frustration before turning to exit. He paused with his hand on the door lever. Whatever it was he was about to say, Sherlock intervened before the chance was lost.

“And tell my brother that neither his concern, nor his nose is welcome.”

Sherlock side-eyed the doctor in time to see him consider, then think better of, another comment. Satisfied that for the moment he’d discontinued any further conversation, Sherlock waited for the doctor’s departure, before returning his intense focus to John. 

Not unconscious, but in a deep restorative sleep. It was hateful. 

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered against John’s temple, pressing a kiss there for good measure. “You didn’t duck when I shouted. That is not acceptable and when you wake I will admonish you for not doing so.”

Sherlock feathered the side of one long finger against his doctor’s cheek while staring at the bruise that encroached upon John’s eye.

“You have to wake up, John. The doctor said you passed the concussion protocol, so they let you sleep, a time of observation they called it, so your brain could rest a bit.” 

His words faded away to silence when John did not stir.

Leaning in close, his lips against John’s ear, he whispered one more desperate plea. “John, please wake up soon. I can’t endure this without you.”

With his broken wrist cradled against his chest, Sherlock curled his other hand over John’s and rested his forehead on both. Soon his own exhaustion gathered around him, pulling him past the pain in his wrist and down into the depths of sleep.

***

A faint, soothing movement of fingers on the back of his hand, a touch he knew so well, drew him back to awareness. Fully alert the instant he raised his head, the sudden movement as he straightened sent a searing pain along his injured arm. He groaned before he could hold it back.

“John?”

“Yes, hello, sleepyhead.”

Sherlock leaned forward to press a kiss to John’s soft smile. “John.”

“Budge up, Sherlock. Need the loo and then we’re going to get an X-ray and a cast for that swollen thing at the end of your arm.”

“John, that’s not-”

“No, Sherlock, it _is_ necessary. Doctor’s orders. _This_ doctor’s orders.” 

The storm in those blue eyes was all Sherlock needed to acquiesce.

“Yes, John.”

***

John sat in the waiting room while Sherlock was cared for in the Orthopaedic Department. Still feeling the not quite himself effects of the knock on the head, he drifted in and out, minimally aware of his surroundings, but listening intently for that one voice. It had already been an hour and the call of Baker Street and their warm bed grew stronger with each passing minute. 

A warm hand on his knee drew him from his half-sleep. 

“John?”

John stared at Sherlock for a moment until his brain caught up.

“Are you all right?”

“Um,” John began, shaking his head slowly in an effort to find a few coherent words. “I think so, you?”

“I will be. Let’s go home.”

John swayed a bit, closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Sherlock’s sternum. “I stood up too quickly.”

Sherlock’s arms came around him, the cast hard against his back. 

“Are you sure you want to leave? I could ask the doctor to look you over again?”

“No, I’m all right. I just want to go home,” John whinged, not caring that he had done so. 

***

John’s head on his shoulder, eyes closed, even in his compromised state, doctor John cradled Sherlock’s injured wrist against his chest to keep it elevated.

His dominant hand, Sherlock thought, annoyed, leaning his cheek against the crown of John’s head. John had taught himself to use his non-dominant right hand nearly as competently as his left. Not so fortunate himself, he’d have to make do.

“John? We’re home.”

“Hm? What? Where are we? Oh, home. I’ll get the fare, shall I?”

“John. Do relax. It’s not urgent. The cabbie will wait a minute or two.”

Sherlock climbed out of the cab to wait for John, but stayed near when his doctor seemed a bit unsteady as he handed a few notes to the cabbie. He’d have to keep a close watch on him. 

Once inside, they navigated the stairs side by side. At the first landing, John paused, closing his eyes for a moment.

“John?”

“Light-headed. I’m okay.” 

“Take your time. Hold my hand, John, so you won’t fall.”

At the second landing, they found a note pinned to the door. Sherlock snapped it off and stepped inside the flat, drawing John in with him.

“What is it?”

“Ah, John, luck has shone on us. Mrs Hudson is away until tomorrow evening.” He gazed at John’s odd inscrutable expression. “What?”

“You look very sexy wearing that coat like a cape, you with your collar turned up and looking all mysterious. Like the wizard from that film.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and smirked. “I prefer sorcerer, John.”

“Yeah, of course you would. Does it hurt?”

“Does what hurt?”

“Don’t be deliberately obtuse, Sherlock. Your wrist, is it painful?” 

“It’s bearable.”

John fingered the cuff of his shirt. “I hope I don’t have to cut your shirt sleeve to get it over the cast. At least it’s not the purple shirt.”

“Aubergine, John.”

John grunted. “Very funny.”

“Come here. I need to check your pupil dilation.”

“I can do that myself, Sherlock, in the mirror. Doctor, remember?”

Sherlock tilted his head, raising an eyebrow, and waited for a reaction.

“Don’t. Your brother is not welcome here.” 

John huffed, let his shoulders slump and finally gave in. Sherlock closed in on him, but instead of checking his pupils, he captured John’s mouth in a gentle kiss.

John sighed his weary sigh. Sherlock thought him adorable. 

“You’re forgiven, Sherlock.”

“I know.”

“Wanker. I’m a bit peckish, how about you?”

“I could eat something.”

“Cheese toasties? And tea? Easy peasy.”

“Yes, please.”

***

Later, burrowed together for warmth beneath several blankets, the duvet and a mountain of pillows, they lay in comfortable silence listening to the steady rain tapping against the window.

John adjusted the pillow supporting the injured wrist for more comfort, then lay his head on Sherlock’s shoulder and one hand over his heart.

Sherlock sighed heavily, alerting John to some sort of forthcoming announcement. He waited, and, just has he was about to give up:

“I was going to admonish you for not ducking.”

“Yes, I heard you.” 

“You. Oh. Not asleep then?”

”Nor unconscious, Sherlock. I was never far away, just resting my brain. I’m sorry I worried you.” 

“It’s all right now.”

John snuggled closer. “Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“I will always hear your voice.”


End file.
